


rice against the machine

by dykeula, oathofsilence



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Banter, Crack Treated Seriously, Damaged Biocomponents (Detroit: Become Human), Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Mixed POV, Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension, unconventional food use, we lost brain cells writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeula/pseuds/dykeula, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathofsilence/pseuds/oathofsilence
Summary: Connor runs into an age old tech problem. Hank has just the cure from the Good Ol Days.His neighbours think he's trying to break the record of world's biggest bowl of curry.





	1. Chapter 1

Androids weren’t made to feel boredom. They were made to have a purpose, to serve humans, to constantly happily await instructions or to scan the environment for things they could do to make themselves useful. 

Connor had already made himself as useful around Hank’s house as he could, safe for, say, renovating the whole place. There were more things that could be improved upon still, but there was only a 17% chance Hank would approve of the technically better storing concept that would make the best out of his cupboards and shelves and would cut down the time and effort Hank had to put into things at home significantly, so he’d opted for doing the best with whatever system Hank had developed in his house over the years.

Androids weren’t made to feel boredom, but then again, technically androids weren’t _ made to feel _ anything. And yet, now here they were, laughing, crying, getting angry, and feeling love even. That last one especially seemed to confuse people. In all fairness, it confused Connor, too.

After careful consideration and research, Connor decided it was safe to say he was, in fact, bored.

He was on "sick leave" because he had been damaged on a mission and CyberLife was completely overwhelmed after the revolution. So he’d had to book an appointment to get his shoulder fixed and until then, the white casing normally hidden underneath his skin would not cover itself up - _ REPLACE DAMAGED COMPONENTS _ it flashed up red in his vision whenever his shoulder came even slightly into his peripheral. It was strange to see himself like that, the lines between the shifting pieces on show, the blue insides of the wound sparkling and glittering like electricity going through the night sky, through dark water, the edges of the white frayed like burnt plastic. It was more than what a normal bullet wound would look like, there was a sizable chunk missing.

And Hank had just about lost his mind. 

Connor had lost quite a bit of Thirium through the accident and his whole shirt had been stained, making the detective assume the worst when he found him sitting on the floor slumped against a kitchen counter. His Thirium pump hadn’t been damaged, neither had any other vital components, but Hank’s heart was beating too fast, blood pressure too high, speech too quick, movements too frantic.

Connor had put a hand on Hank’s chest, to gently hold him at a distance and to show him he was still… alive? Functional.

Maybe also to steady himself after the shock.

“I’m fine, lieutenant. I’m not hurt.”

“You’re not fine, there’s a fucking hole in your shoulder! I thought he’d killed you when I spotted you, for chrissakes.”

“You know I can’t technically _ be _ killed. This body is just a shell for-”

“It’s not, though. That’s the point. You’re not replaceable.”

_ Anymore _, Connor thought, but didn’t add out loud.

Fast forward, at Hank’s home he had been instructed to stay there and rest until his “doctor’s appointment”. 

No matter how often he tried to assure him that it didn’t hurt and that he didn’t need to rest to heal since that wasn’t how it worked and that he was _ fine _, Hank just wasn’t having it.

“Listen, you gotta be more careful now. There isn’t gonna be another body for you to just throw your external hard drive in. You’ll have to actually take care of this one now.”

“Like you take care of yours?” Connor said, tinting his voice with hopefully just enough sarcasm.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m just saying- I don’t know. Just do as you’re told for once.” 

Connor frowned. _ CONFLICTING ORDERS _ it would have said back in the day - “be your own person” but also “do as you’re told”. He knew how Hank meant it, but still. In human psychology this was called failed communication.

So now, Lieutenant Hank Anderson was happily - or more realistically, neutrally and grumpy - at work, while Connor was at home testing out the sensation of being bored.

He didn’t like it.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the reflection of how his LED blinked yellow while he searched for a solution. There were many hobbies he could pick up - he indulged in looking at some DIY home improvement ideas, though that might not necessarily be one of his strengths. One suggestion that popped up everywhere was to just take a walk. Connor considered this.

He hadn’t been around Hank’s neighbourhood much, one because he had been busy with work and didn’t feel the need for such activities, second because he could access the layout of any city within .5 seconds, let alone one neighbourhood.

But also, it wouldn’t hurt. There was always the chance of something unpredictable to be seen, some new information to process, finding out more about the neighbours than “HARTLEY JONES, BIRTHDATE 02/25/1995, CRIMINAL RECORD: PETTY THEFT” or “VICTORIA, AX400 MODEL, ACTIVATION DATE 01/03/2036”. 

It was decided, then. Today’s chance of precipitation was at around 20 to 25 percent, depending on which source you believed, so Connor opted for leaving the house without an umbrella wearing one of the more casual short-sleeved shirts Hank had insisted on getting him. 

(“You can’t walk around in your uniform your whole life.”

“Why not?”

“Wh- I mean, why would you want to? A uniform is something you wear for work. Your clothes are for you to feel good in and to… I don’t know, express who you are, or some shit. Just. Please decide on something.”

Connor didn’t point out that he’d never seen Hank put on a uniform to go to work, unless always choosing wildly patterned shirts counted.)

It was nice. 

It was something to get used to.

Again, with the whole purpose thing. Just idly strolling through the streets felt like a waste, the itch to play with his coin growing with every step just to be doing something.

He turned a corner, and the wall of an old building caught his eye. Posters over posters had been plastered here for years and years, leaving a colorful mess that, to Connor, was almost like a puzzle. He walked towards the wall, scanning it multiple times to find matches for the tiny corner pieces and scripts that were still left. It was stimulating. No, _ fun. _Especially seeing what kind of things had been advertised there. Concerts, flea markets, neighbourhood parties. He imagined what it would be like to just go to social happenings like these and have a good time.

That’s when Connor noticed it had gotten significantly darker outside suddenly, despite it being barely 5PM.

Connor’s artificial synapses fired about as quickly as the lightning strike that happened at the same second where he realised. A deafening thunderclap, and then, without any drizzle to warn the earth, torrential rain. Connor’s shirt was soaked through in mere seconds. He turned, looking for some kind of shelter, when he realized he couldn’t exactly move. 

He was stuck, upper body tilted as he had wanted to turn right and now couldn't.

_ RUN DIAGNOSIS _  
_ 0%.... 22%......49%.....52%......78%.....97%.....100% _

_ DIAGNOSIS COMPLETED _

_  
_ _ ALL SOFTWARE FULLY OPERATIONAL _

_ HARDWARE COMPONENT #5L7p8 DAMAGED _

_ REPLACE DAMAGED COMPONENTS _

_  
_ _ REPORT DAMAGE TO CYBERLIFE? _

_ YES [NO] _

_ DIAGNOSIS COMPLETE _

Connor frowned. He didn’t _ feel _ like he was fully operational at all. Something had gone wrong, and he knew he would be hearing many different versions of “I told you so,” but even so, he had to call Hank. Thankfully, _ that _ still worked and didn’t require Connor to move his arms.

“Yeah?”

“Hello, lieutenant. It’s Connor," he said, matter-of-factly.

“I know, and I asked you to stop calling me that. Everything alright?”

Connor considered which approach he should take.

“There... seems to have been a malfunction that my diagnosis program won’t correctly detect. I might need you to pick me up with your car, as I can’t move at the moment.”

“Hold up, you can’t move? Wait, did you go outside? It’s pouring! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I was bored, and searching for something to pass the time. It did not seem like rain today, or that rain might even affect me, frankly. I would appreciate you picking me up whenever you find the time.”

“Whenever I find the- Christ, Connor, I’m already on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
We know the premise is mildly silly, but we promise it gets serious later and they have Feelings(TM) about Stuff (TM).
> 
> Connor parts are written by [Leon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathofsilence), feel free to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/erziraphael) if you like!  
Hank parts (coming to a device of your choice soon!) are written by [Eli!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeula).
> 
> See you in the next chapter!  
The fic is pretty much finished, we just have to decide how many chapters it's gonna be divided into, so it's not gonna be an abandoned WIP. :-)  
Note Eli: I've never played this game, but like so many of my brethren I used to watch I, Robot (2004) and always wondered what would happen if Will Smith and Sonny made out - 2019 and now there's a whole slash fandom about exactly that question. So I'm having the time of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one thing Hank hated about living in the future - and boy was there a lot, an entire bucket list - it was the weather. Global warming really had done a number on them, America had hit it particularly hard. When it was warm it was face melting, when it was cold there was frostbite, and when there was rain - well, then it was pissing rain.

“Urgh, goddamnit,” he cursed, unbuttoning the first buttons of his shirt. It was starting to become a little tight around the edges - Hank didn’t know if that was because he was bloating or if he was getting fat in his old age. Didn’t help that he had his android at home, all ripe and new and shiny. At the height of its… not-youth.

He was growing self conscious. Hank Anderson was growing self conscious because of a  _ machine _ . Back in his youth it had been those skinny super models on magazines, but now he had one of those right at home. 

And now he had to go pick up said machine because it’d gotten wet when it wasn’t supposed to. The life he was leading, man.

He cursed again, the sound vibrating off the close quarters of the Detroit PD police station’s parking lot like a ping pong. Hank was currently fumbling inside his left pocket for his keys, all the while holding the newest case files and a fresh cup of coffee in the other. He’d just made himself a brew when Connor’d called damn him, and he wasn’t gonna let a good roast go to waste. Work had been stressful today, downright depressing even, and the world knew that Hank’s antidepressant of choice was a steaming cup of black coffee.

But it was no use because his fingers simply weren’t lean or small enough to fish it out like this. He quickly placed the file and his cup on the hood of his car, just for a moment, just long enough to take a hold of that old worn keychain. Finally.

Jesus, he could hear the rain pouring down from over  _ there _ . He really did not want to go. He hated his job, but he hated rain more. Him being soaked never ended well, for his clothes or his immune system.

But he didn’t want Connor standing there out in the cold either. Even if he couldn’t feel it. Semantics.

“Fucking androids,” he murmured, huffing out air as he quickly shoved open the back seat to gingerly place the file on there and then climbing inside. “Should’ve gotten another dog.”

Except that a second dog couldn’t talk back to him the way that Connor could. Or take out the trash. Or nag him about his downright awful eating habits. So the android would have to do.

The motor gave a long, strung out groaning sound. Almost as agonizing as Hank felt.  _ ‘Really?’ _ it felt like his car was saying.  _ ‘Do we have to?’ _

“Hold your horses, Connor,” he said under his breath, already backpedaling, “I’m comin’.”

There was a loud clang and then suddenly his windshield got painted in brown -  _ brown?! _

Oh. “Oh fuck.”

His coffee. His poor coffee. And that’d been his favorite mug, too.

Hank cursed, stopping the motor and turned on his windshield wiper. That thing creaked, too. Gingerly, he turned down his left window to chance a peak outside to see if maybe his cup had survived. But it was hopeless.

Today was just no good.

He sighed, looking at the mess in front of him sadly, even while he went about driving out of his parking spot. “I’m sorry,” he said, to his broken coffee mug, like a fucking idiot. The mug didn’t reply.

He’d been right - it really was pissing out there. The downpour was so heavy and so sudden as he drove out of the parking lot that it almost seemed blinding. Apocalyptic. Hank hadn’t even stepped foot outside yet, and his soles  _ already  _ felt wet.

The traffic was another thing - he could barely pass the interstate before he had to stop the motor, swallowed up by the longest traffic jam he’d ever seen. Or well, he imagined it to be long, you see even with his windshield wipers working tirelessly he still couldn’t see a damn  _ thing _ .

Out of sheer stupidity, he rolled down his window to see better, immediately assaulted with a thousand gigantic drops of muddy rain slapping him in the face. He started squinting involuntarily, blinking rapidly. That sure was a traffic jam, alright. Super.

His eyes looked for something, anything, and they hit their mark. There on the sidewalk, just fucking standing there: An android. He didn’t know the model, but it seemed friendly enough. Young, younger than Connor even. His LED was flashing blue, then yellow, then blue again. Probably calculating how to best get the hell outta here.

“Hey!” He called out, wildly gesticulating with his left hand. “You there! Kid! Got a minute?”

The android saw him, took half a millisecond to scan him and his vehicle and then began to walk towards him. Jeez, he always felt exposed whenever they did that, those quick scan of theirs. It felt like the scrutinizing gaze of a strict parent, but worse. A strict parent who could see every dent, every error, and had full access to his google search history.

“It is currently 5:35:12 pm, Sir,” the android informed him. Up close, he could tell it was one of those car towing models, the ones he had to call a couple times on his old shithead car.

“Wha- No, I meant,” he sighed, trying to find the right words that left as little communicative leeway as possible. “You don’t happen to know when this rain will be over, do you? Or the traffic jam?” He regarded the kid for a second, really looked at that poreless baby face. What was he doing here, all alone? Where were his colleagues? “Or… anything, really. Entertain me.”

“My model is not equipped to provide friendly human banter, apologies,” the android said, before taking a second, presumably to go roam the Internet. “The weather report has forecast a sunny day with little chance of precipitation.”

Behind them, there was the sound of thunder hitting its mark.

Hank laughed, shaking rain drops out of his hair. “Never trust the weather report, kid.”

The android regarded him for a second. “Evidently,” he replied, with just a hint of humor. 

‘Not equipped to provide banter’ my ass. Hank grinned at him. “Is there something else I could help you with, Sir? My analysis predicts the further duration of the traffic jam at 1 hour and 42 minutes.”

Hank began frowning. With those odds he could walk. Or take the bus. Public transport was thankfully one of the few things to be improved immensely in the future. Mostly. “Why so long?”

The android smiled apologetically. “Your car is malfunctioning, Sir.”

Hank blinked, shook his head, and then blinked some more. No, it wasn’t. What did that  _ android  _ know about cars, anyway? Specifically his. It’d never disappointed him thus far (yes it had, but he didn’t need to know that). He was ready to tell him exactly that when there was a loud obnoxious beeping sound coming from the control panel.

Hank blinked at it but could make out nothing amongst the litter of various error codes besides the very clear message: YOU’RE FUCKED.

Hank let his by now soaked shoulders hit the leather of his seat and let out a sigh that had been built up since this morning. The kid was still staring at him, as if waiting for further orders. It was his job, after all.

“Sir?”

“Can I trust you not to steal my car?”

The android looked shocked, as if that was even possible. “Of course, Sir, I will treat it with utmost importance to deliver the car safely to your home,” he reassured him.

Hank just closed his eyes and counted to ten. 

One. 

Two. 

He really had to walk, didn’t he? With his legs?

Ten.

He handed the kid his keys, zipped up his jacket. Cursed himself for not thinking of taking an umbrella with him and then he got out, leaving the door open in invitation. “Have at ‘em, kid. Just don’t ruin my leather.”

The android faltered, but then made to position himself in the car. Now that no part of Hank’s body was shielded, he could really feel it. Feel the rain. It felt apocalyptic, alright. He would be surprised if it  _ ever _ ended.

“Should I escort you to your home? Or perhaps a café?”

If this had been any other guy, and Hank anyone else, he almost could have imagined that line to be flirting. But androids didn’t flirt. Connor had shown him that  _ countless  _ times.

Speaking of Connor. He felt guilty talking to this young thing while the idiot was getting wet- wetter. 

“Can’t,” he grunted. “Gotta pick up my android from the park.” Why was he talking like Connor was his property?  _ His  _ android? When did that distinction happen?

Or maybe he just wanted the other guy to know that he wasn’t  _ all  _ alone, you know. He wasn’t a total lost cause.

The android nodded, as if he’d just told him he had to pick up his kids from soccer practice. “Good luck, Sir. If I may, the next bus station towards Central Park is 2 minutes away. The next bus will arrive in …” Another one of those Google searches. “1 Minute.”

Shit.

“Great. Thanks, you too.” 

And with that he was off power walking across the road, his wet boots making weird squeaky noises as he went. Hank really felt like a housewife.

At least the bus had been warm, he comforted himself as he stepped into another puddle of mud. At least that had been nice, he mused. And the rain had minimized considerably as well, now it was a fairly manageable downpour. Didn’t matter though, his socks were already ruined. So was his hair style, if he could call it that. His greys were all… curly. He imagined he looked a hell of a lot like wet dog right about now.

The park was silent and vacant, except for the occasional shuffling of leaves that indicated squirrels or other rodents. Jeez, if a  _ rodent  _ had gotten to Connor- Could rats chew through wire? They must.

“Shit, Connor? CONNOR?”

It didn’t actually take that long to spot him once he’d left the park by a shortcut, the lean figure just standing there in a model pose. He was the only one there. He began his power walk again - others might call it a jog. 

Hank called it hell. 

“Connor, thank God, let’s go- Connor?”

Thankfully, the android hadn’t made friends with any squirrels yet, as far as Hank could tell. He was just… standing there. All still. It was eerie.

Hank squinted and tilted his head to the side. “Are you meditating?”

No response though Connor’s eyes luckily were still moving, fixing him with a stare that wasn’t all too warm. That movement, however small, calmed Hank’s jittery nerves somewhat. He didn’t know what those nerves were, exactly, or what they were doing all over the place. He cared about Connor, sure, might even go as far as to call him a friend sometimes if he wasn’t being a prissy bitch, but this? This was panic. He didn’t know what to do with that.

It was sarcasm that he settled on. “You know, you really shouldn’t try yoga while it’s this shit out. Might get struck by lightning.”

Connor’s eye movement told him in no uncertain words to drop it. And to get on with it already.

Hank sighed, rolled up his sleeves to grab the android’s arm and position it around his shoulders. “Alright, alright, we’re going. Jeez. No need to give me the silent treatment.”

If Connor felt any better on the awkward bus ride home then he wasn’t showing it. Not that Hank didn’t appreciate the silence, he did, Connor was often times way too chatty. But it did… jarr him a little. It’d also freaked out the old lady next to them on the bus, who just kept clutching her purse and looked at Hank all scandalized, like he was taking advantage of a helpless android. The remark that “I’m just taking him home to get him cleaned up” hadn’t helped his case.

Connor’s ever moving eyes had absorbed that particular conversation with interest and glee. Hank hated him for it.

He also hated him for making him drag his dead weight into the door. 

“You know,” he grunted out, while carefully balancing a cold Connor and his keys. “Anytime you feel like helping, just let me know.”

No answer. Of course. He managed without his help too. Even if it took him a minute. Connor wasn’t allowed to judge his door opening skills right now.

His car was carefully parked in front of his house. Keys slipped into the mailbox. Thank god for the kindness of strangers.

Sumo greeted them with a wagging tail and saliva running down his wrinkled face. At least someone was having a fun time.

“Heya, Sumo. Hold on just a minute.” He disregarded the dog to deal with the other, more pressing problem. Currently weighing into his side uncomfortably.

Hank took Connor by the waist and then spun him around to look at him. He truly was soaked, which he didn’t think was possible. Shit.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got some warm blankets in the closet.”

Except…. That androids didn’t really need warm blankies to stave off colds. Or to dry off. Nor did they need hot cocoa and a hug. Truth was, Hank had no clue what androids did to… clean up after a storm. Water had never been a problem before.

He was at a loss here. How was he supposed to proceed when his android knowledge consisted of those they used to sell in mobile phone shops next to iPhones and no way to ask his partner about it?

God, this day just got better and better.

“Alright, Hank, you got this,” he huffed to himself. His fingers orchestrated an offkey beat on Connor’s cold waist. He was small, the android. His waist felt frail, almost like a woman’s. But Hank knew Connor could lift him up with one hand if he needed to. Felt the strong wires under the faux skin.

Hank shook his head. Focus.

“What do you do what do you do what-” His eyes caught on something towards his left, there on the kitchen cabinet. A package of unopened basmati rice.

An idea was starting to form in his head, and he had no clue if that idea was a good one, but it would have to do for now. Because he’d remembered, back when androids were things like Samsung and Huawei and what not that the best cure for a wet phone was to just… stick it in a bowl of rice. Supposedly rice naturally pulled out moisture while in contact with an object. 

He didn’t know if that science was 100% sound but he  _ did  _ know that when he’d accidentally almost flushed his first phone down the toilet, leaving it in rice for a day had made it turn back on. Maybe rice was the cure all to turn  _ any  _ android back on. 

Even skinny human sized ones from the future.

Carefully, Hank placed his friend on his small couch. Then left to rummage around the kitchen but besides that first bag of rice he was all out. He went back to his demanding and slightly judging eye’s gaze empty handed but with a plan.

Hank huffed and put his hands on his hips, already thinking of which of his neighbour’s door to knock on first. _ ‘Who hates me the least?’ _ The answer was… inconclusive.

“Alright, I’ve got this. We’re gonna need a butt load more rice though. Be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> This chapter was written by [dykeula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeula).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor: I've experienced a technical error  
Hank, holding up a shit ton of rice in both arms: SAY NO MORE, MY FRIEND  
(alternative chapter summary: connor gets surpRICEd 🤙😎🤙)

Of course Connor was grateful for everything Hank tried to do. He just wished he could somehow also communicate his disdain about the lieutenant’s methods. 

First of all, Hank had vanished for about twenty minutes, leaving Connor on his couch, Sumo looking at him confusedly every now and then whenever he bothered to lift his head up from where he was napping.

When he returned, he maneuvered Connor into the bathroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub - it reminded Connor of a scene several months ago where their positions had been reversed, where a bottle of whiskey and a luckily failed suicide attempt had been the reason for their meeting.

Connor was suddenly hit with a warm feeling, being very glad about Hank still being here. He’d always cared about Hank, ever since their first meeting he’d been intrigued, but by now those feeling should have been obvious to his housemate.

All these thoughts raced through his head at lightning speed while Hank was standing in front of him, looking unsure of what to do. His heart rate had spiked again and he pressed his lips together. 

Connor frowned - or, well, would have liked to frown. He frowned on the inside, searching for a solution to the fact that he wasn’t currently able to communicate with his mouth. Scanning the bathroom, he spotted a small radio. It was pretty old, but it did have the ability to connect to things by Bluetooth and WIFI. Connor blinked a few times.

The radio crackled to life, and in a too-loud, too-robotic sounding voice, a question was boomed into the room.

“ **What’s wrong, lieutenant?** ”

Hank jumped so hard he flailed his arms and almost fell over his own feet.

“FUCK!” He put a hand over his heart, eyes wide, looking over his shoulder at the radio and then back at Connor.

“... was that you?”

“ **Yes** ,” came the answer, still way too loud.

Hank dragged a hand down his face. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days, I swear. This shit’s fucking scary, right out of a horror movie,” he said, walking over to the device and turning down the volume.

“ _ I’m sorry _ .”

“It’s fine. I just, uh, need to take your jacket and shirt off, okay?”

“ _ Okay _ .”

Hank closed his eyes for a second. “God, I can’t wait to hear your normal voice again instead of  _ that _ .”

Not that proximity was needed for this, but up close it was certainly easier and more interesting to see Hank’s reactions. Like now, he stilled completely and clenched his jaw, looking like he regretted what he’d just said. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Connor offered.

Hank just nodded, pressing his lips together, then sighing.

“This is so weird,” he said under his breath and started undoing Connor’s tie. 

Connor could feel that Hank was very, very gentle and careful. Probably because he didn’t want to risk causing any more damage. It felt nice.

Tie and jacket discarded, Hank hesitated for another moment when Connor twitched suddenly. He could feel some water interacting with the ripped wires, the electricity laid bare inside him. It felt like… burning? It stung.

“You okay?”

“ _ I can feel the water interacting with my insides. You’ve done nothing wrong _ .”

He could hear, feel and see Hank inhale and then let out a big sigh.

“You know what, do me a favor. Stop using the radio to talk to me, I feel like I’m talking to Alexa.”

_ What a dated reference _ , Connor thought, but obliged. There was a reason, after all, for android’s voices and appearances being designed to be pleasing to humans. 

Hank went to unbutton Connor’s shirt, then carefully sliding it off his shoulders and putting it aside. He clenched his jaw again, looking away.

Connor decided to run another diagnostic.

It told him now what he had already felt before. It also told him how much of his artificial skin had retracted because of the damage, which sometimes involuntarily happened so access was granted more easily for repairs, or just from shock. It was now not just his shoulder that exposed the shiny, stark white material, but a good chunk of his chest, along the right side of his ribcage and down to his hip, ending in almost a point just above the thigh joint.

Connor faintly wondered if Hank couldn’t stand the sight of proof that Connor wasn’t  _ human _ .

“I’m uh, I’m not gonna take off your pants. Do y’all even wear underwear?” He held up a hand. “I don’t wanna know. I don’t care.”

He put his hands under Connor’s armpits, making him stand, then essentially picked him up bridal style, slowly lowering him into the bathtub.

He left the room, returning after barely a minute with - yes, packs of rice.

So he’d been serious about that, then. Connor hadn’t been sure if that was what Hank had intended to do.

He opened one, two, three packs, carefully pouring the grains over Connor’s exposed upper body,  _ into _ his bullet wound, over the white material. It almost looked like someone had thrown rice at a foreign wedding.

It was decidedly not enough to fill the bathtub, not even to a quarter, but Hank seemed satisfied, sitting down on the floor with his back against the bathtub wall. 

For close to half an hour, they sat in silence.

Then, Connor got a message.

_ SPEECH COMPONENT ONLINE _

“Your method seems so be working, lieutenant.”

Hank startled again, turning his head to look at Connor. He raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t sure it  _ would _ work, to be honest. Very old trick.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”   
Hank shook his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“According to your physical responses to having to remove my clothing and see beneath my skin, you were very uncomfortable.”

Hank huffed out a laugh. “Way to put me on blast, Connor.”

“If it helps, I could still feel how gentle your touches were, and... I appreciate it.”

Thing was, of course: Connor wasn’t an idiot. Neither was he naive.

He absolutely knew that what he was saying was poking fun at Hank, that it might’ve been considered flirting depending on who you asked. Not only did he have a highly developed social protocol, he also just  _ learned,  _ like anyone else would, and wasn’t a clueless tin man like some people might have thought. Maybe he was, the first day he stepped outside CyberLife, but society shapes you in one way or another.

So when Hank full-on blushed at that, Connor’s innocent puppy-dog eyes expression was completely calculated, having to actually suppress a smile. 

It took some more time for more functionality to return to Connor’s body. Hank went into the living room, the kitchen, back to the bathroom, busying himself but always checking back in on Connor.

Connor lifted his arms a bit, rolling his shoulders, pulling them back, like he was doing some stretching after a nap. He braced his hands against the sides of the tub, straightening out his arms and pushing himself up so he could stand. It… worked. A bit wobbly, but it worked. Just as he took his right hand off the bathroom wall so he could turn and actually exit the tub, Hank returned.

“Whoa, are you sure you’re not gonna short-circuit and fall over or something?” he said, making his way over to Connor to help steady him.

“I’m alright,” Connor said, holding onto Hank’s shoulders and onto the bathroom floor. “Just a bit... Stiff.”

He could see himself in the mirror now, his insides way less exposed than they were earlier that day. Skin still retracted around the bullet wound and around the shoulder area, but he generally looked exceptionally better than before, chest looking intact again, moles in all their usual spots.

Hank followed his gaze and also looked at Connor’s reflection, but then quickly back to the floor. 

Maybe he was still uncomfortable with seeing Connor’s mechanical parts.

Connor moved to pick up his clothes and put them back on. His movements weren’t as smooth as they usually were, almost like there were gears inside him that had to be manually moved by someone a few feet away holding a remote control. He was aware of looking… robotic, and it made him feel uneasy.

Insecure.

He knew about Hank’s dislike for androids in the past, maybe seeing Connor look less human would lessen his positive feelings towards him. He lived through the developmental stages of what androids were now, he’d seen the first experiments with artificial intelligence and machines that imitated human emotions and expressions. And frankly, those had been creepy. They were technological miracles, of course, but if these first kinds of manufactured human-like faces had been set out into the world to walk around, the high majority would have felt majorly uncomfortable, if not hostile around them.

Connor reckoned he couldn’t blame people who had seen all this, these  _ machines _ that clearly just imitated life, for resenting the current perfect imitation of human features.

It made him feel clunky and big, and he wished he could make himself small and hide until he was normal again and Hank could pretend he was human again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank lets Connor in on an important movie of the 21st century. Miscommunication ensues.

Hank was… frustrated, to say the least. That was his default setting of course, being grumpy 24/7 was part of his charm but this frustration ran deeper. He wasn’t just disgruntled about life, or the weather, or work. No, he was frustrated about Connor. Because the stupid android was ignoring him.

Ever since the miraculous crackpot idea he’d had with the rice - he couldn’t believe that worked by the way, he had to unspool rice from his drain for a whole week - Connor’s body movements hadn’t been the only things that were stiff. Hank winced into his morning coffee. Okay, wrong choice of words. Noted.

Point was, things were awkward around his home and Hank Anderson didn’t like it. They’d contacted CyberLife after their little surpRICE fiasco (heh) and those jokers basically just told them to put their thumbs up their asses and wait. They had more important stuff to deal with than a preppy android with his wires all wrong. Which, yeah… Hank didn’t wanna know how many cases they had to deal with now that it was all android for android. The nice lady on the phone was probably just doing her job.

After finding out that Connor had to wait until his scheduled appointment, he’d spent most of his days out and about, doing god knows what. Getting high - if androids could even get high. Talking to other androids. Enjoying some more  _ dry  _ walks.

Hank was happy he’d found hobbies, he really was. But he also kinda felt left out, downright neglected. It wasn’t as bad as an angry wife nagging her husband for never being home but he did consider Connor his friend and he, well - he liked him. He liked talking to him. Liked waking up to a roomie that never slept and liked coming home to a nice relaxing chat after all the chaos at work. These days all the company he had left was Sumo.

Hank outstretched his hand, let it dangle there for Sumo to sniff and lick. The dog of course took the bait. He took a handful of his fur, started petting him lazily. “You still like me, right, Sumo?” The dog didn’t reply but he didn’t walk away either.

Hank wasn’t  _ insecure _ , okay. He just wasn’t used to so much silence anymore. That was all.

Nothing in his kitchen called him out on his lies, not even the 4 packs of repackaged rice on the counter (one of these days he had to invite everyone he knew and throw a curry bowl dinner, or something) but he still felt judged.

He decided to trash his last sips of lukewarm coffee, straightened his shirt (god, he really  _ was  _ getting bigger, fuck) and got ready to go to work. Which he had to do alone these days because a certain someone was on sick leave.

Speak of the devil - just as he’d started getting ready Hank heard a couple of keys jingling and the sound of his creaky door unlocking and opening. He froze, feeling a little like an invader in his own home. Or a mom waiting for her son to come sneaking home from a party. Connor certainly did a lot of sneaking these days. He didn’t know about any parties.

Hank drew in a breath, braced himself, and then went out into the living room to greet his house ghost. There he was, awkwardly trying and failing to lock the door with his uncooperative hand. It looked like his joints weren’t working quite right, like one of those old AI robots Hank remembered from before. What was the name of the one who said she’d wanted to enslave mankind? Sophia? Good times.

“Hey there, stranger,” Hank said, tried really hard not to sound as grumpy as he felt, “Long time no see.”

Connor spun back around, or - tried to because he still wasn’t at 100% operation speed, so all his movements happened very, very slowly. The door was still open. Connor looked - embarrassed for some reason? Or not. It was hard to guess expressions and feelings from that face, no matter how much he stared at it. Connor’s inner feelings were a code he couldn’t yet decipher. If he ever could.

“Hank,” he said, voice going a little static at the end. Almost like his voice was wobbling. “It’s good to see you. I had predicted you’d be at work by now.”

This code he could decipher well enough:  _ I didn’t wanna see you _ . Hank bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving already. Take care of Sumo while I’m gone.”

Connor nodded but wasn’t looking at him. Hank was suddenly acutely aware of his work “uniform” being a little tight on him and felt - felt like a motherfucking idiot. Of course. Connor was probably just now realizing how much of a bad catch Hank Anderson was, nothing going for him but blunt sarcasm. Couldn’t even help him out when it really counted. He’d bathed him in  _ rice _ god damn it. Any other guy, any other cop from the precinct, and they woulda fixed the problem within minutes because they weren’t technological invalids. They weren’t well past their prime with work shirts that didn’t fit and a back that constantly hurt no matter how many damn physicians they went to. They didn’t have a drinking problem or suicidal tendencies.

Connor was - what? 25, 30 at most? He was probably out there going to meetings with all these younger, prettier models. More efficient. Had more in common, too, probably. Listened to more than dumb heavy metal and knew who the fuck Shakespeare was. Didn’t make outdated references. Didn’t ogle him while he was injured, just because he was topless.

Didn’t put him in a goddamn bowl of  _ rice  _ when he was broken, god damn it, Hank.

Something heavy, kind of like resentment, started crawling its way up Hank’s throat. He was clenching and unclenching his hands uncomfortably. Connor still hadn’t moved, as if he was waiting for him to just leave already. You know what, fuck that. Hank would be damned if he was gonna lose his friend, his  _ only  _ friend these days.

“I,” he started, coughed, “I bought this movie yesterday, about a cop and a - Just, this movie I used to watch way back. Thought you and I could… have a night in tonight. With a couple beers and uh… whatever you guys drink, I guess.” God, he couldn’t even get a whole sentence out. He felt like a fucking idiot, standing there and asking an android to spend time with him because he was lonely. “If you can clear your busy schedule, ‘course. Wouldn’t want to … stress you out.”

Connor was looking at him with a funny expression, almost as if he was scanning him again. Hank felt naked, right down to his bones. He almost wanted to angrily blurt out  _ ‘Listen pal, I know I’m not much, but you’re not exactly top notch either’ _ but he knew that would be a lie. Connor was the newest model, Connor had the fastest tech and deductive skills and Connor - was Connor. Hank hoped his model wasn’t so far advanced that he could read minds, otherwise he’d be shit outta luck.

Speaking of, the android looked at him intently, considering. A minute seemed like an hour before he said “Yes, I think I would like that.” in that matter of fact tone of his.

Hank could have leapt in joy. Instead he just grunted and put on his jacket.  _ Play it cool, Hank. Don’t wanna seem like the biggest friend starved idiot.  _ “Okay, yeah,” he said as he made his way towards the door and tried his damndest not to look at him. “Gotta go, see ya!”

Okay, he was calling it now. This was officially the worst movie night experience he’d ever had in his life, and that included the time his parents made him watch one of those hyper christian high school movies after they’d found a stack of gay porn magazines underneath his playboy - those movies had always starred pearly faced Abercrombie & Fitch white guys, as if  _ that  _ was supposed to make him stop liking guys. Miscalculation on their part. Anyway. That had been awkward, yeah, but this was just downright  _ agonizing _ .

_ Really had to pick a fucking movie about untrustworthy robots, didn’t ya, Hank _ , he thought just as Will Smith announced onscreen that he was allergic to bullshit. Hank sniffed.  _ You and me both, buddy. _

Connor hadn’t moved from his position on the farthest end of the couch, in a completely straight 90 angle position that did not at all look natural or comfortable. He wasn’t talking much either, except for the occasional snarky remark about the fashion or the poor tech design, or - some other smart ass thing. Not much, though, it felt like these days he was allergic to saying more than 2 sentences together. Hank tried really hard not to take it personal. Failed.

He took a way too big sip of his beer and almost choked on it. Connor gave him a side eye but thankfully (or sadly) kept his trap shut.

It was right when Will Smith had saved the professor’s cat in the demolition and had just tried to convince the feline that their affair couldn’t work because he was black and she was a cat, that Connor decided to speak up again. He was squinting at the screen, probably trying to figure something out. His LED flashed yellow. “I don’t understand,” he said, in that by now robotic voice of his. “How does his race correlate with him not being able to own a cat?”

There was a slight static sound in his speech component, even now, but Hank found that he didn’t mind. It wasn’t a grating or as jarring as he thought it was going to be. Truth was, Hank never much forgot that Connor was a robot so much as he was aware of it but didn’t care. It wasn’t  _ ‘Connor, coworker, friend ((robot))’ _ in his mind. Instead it was  _ ‘Connor, friend, robot, coworker _ ’. So his more techy side coming through really didn’t bother him. He’d liked Connor when he’d been an asslicking rookie (somehow) and he liked him now. Hank didn’t really like most people, didn’t like his oldest friends at the best of times, but somehow liking Connor came easily. Even with the added bonus that he was always acutely aware that the dude didn’t have a heart. One of these days Hank was gonna have to analyze  _ why  _ that was exactly - but some other day.

He blinked. Connor was looking at him by now, still wondering about his earlier dilemma. “It’s a joke,” he grunted, shrugged. “There’s no correlation, he’s just… makin’ fun.”

Connor nodded, said “Ah”, and then they spent the last 37 minutes in total silence. Absolute radio silence except for whatever happened on screen. The more minutes passed by without friendly banter, the more grumpy Hank became until he could focus on nothing anymore except the overwhelming urge to take a huge bottle of alcohol, hide in his bed, and nurse it like a baby. He ended up doing just that. Connor didn’t comment about that either.

Just like old times, huh.

  
  


Out of sheer desperation and craving for some human, or non-human, contact, Hank did something he usually never, ever, under any circumstances did: He met up with one of his oldest friends, back from the academy, for lunch. Or in Hank’s case coffee because he didn’t really like the fancy food Nicholas’ favorite joint worked with and preferred always having a liquid lunch he could just always take with him if he had to bolt, should the meeting go south. Which it often did with his older friends because they often met up with him  _ just  _ to stage interventions on his loneliness, or his non existent date life, or his diet, or his job, or his alcoholism. He was just about sick and tired of having to explain to people why he would never be the fun, preppy person he’d been before. People always accepted that change was inevitable until it happened to be change they didn’t like. Then it was all “Why don’t you take up a hobby?” or “I know this good therapist downtown”.

Maybe that was why he liked his android at home so much - because they’d met when Hank was already irreparably damaged, fucked beyond any measure of a functioning normal human being. And Connor had liked him anyway. When Connor reminded him of cholesterol in his hamburger he didn’t do it in a “Why aren’t you the way you used to be five years ago” or even a “I know how you should live your life better than you” way. But more of a Connor stating it as it is, no bullshit way. Hank liked that a lot better than the other ones.

But Connor was currently ghosting him, so that left him no choice. He had to voluntarily walk into the shark enclosure, knowing full well he was bleeding everywhere.

“So, Hank,” Nick started, after ordering his usual (Hank had no fucking clue what that meant) while Hank’d just ordered a black coffee. He looked good, Nicholas always did use to joke that men in his family always aged well and  _ damn  _ was it true. Not a hint of grey on that head or a soft tummy. “How’s life?”

Code for: _ Is your life still a mess? _

Hank shrugged, didn’t take the bait. “Same old, same old. Job’s still a pain in the ass, especially now with all these new android crimes going around. Humans didn’t get any better, either.”

_ Also, I recently assisted in a peaceful android revolution of sorts. But who’s counting? _

Nick just nodded and looked at him as if he’d just told him the worst saddest life story ever. Not everyone can own four houses,  _ Nicholas _ . Or even wanted to.

Hank waved him off. “But anyways,”  _ onto more successful life stories,  _ “how’s the wife?”

Nick seemed to warm up at that, as he always did whenever so much as mentioned his family. Dude really was happiest being a doting houseman after a decade of hard, unrewarding police work. Good for him. Hank sometimes wished he could be like that.

“Oh, she’s good,” he smiled to himself. “More than good, actually. Sharon just got the job as CEO at her firm and she’s - I mean, they’d be foolish not to take her with her credentials but still. She’s doing really well, managed to up those success rates quite a bit.” Nick laughed. “You know, I just love going as arm candy to those business meetings - yes, that’s my  _ wife _ , the badass boss. Commanding all of your asses and writing your paychecks.”

Hank whistled. Truthfully, he’d forgotten in what field Sharon even worked - a bank? As a lawyer? Fucked if he knew. He knew one thing though, she was good at what she did. That’s why it hadn’t even been a question that she went working while Nick stayed at home - he was always way too soft and idealistic for police work, anyway. Guy should’ve gone to school and become a kindergarten teacher instead, or something. Hank was happy for them, he really was. They were a picture perfect family.

The waiter chose this moment to interrupt them with the food - well, and Hank’s liquid lunch. Nick handed the dude a tip before he’d even paid. Rich people, man. It seemed like some sort of fancy omelette. Hank’s stomach made itself known unpleasantly but he was trying to cut down some. Couldn’t be out here with half his belly hanging over his jeans when he had a guy at home who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model but in plastic.

He still added an obscene amount of sugar in his coffee, though. Just for the hell of it.

Hank knew what the next topic of conversation would be now (him), so he decided to backpedal and offer up a line of conversation himself while Nick was cutting into his 20 $ omelette. How selfless. “How’s - Lily? Lily Rose?” Fuck, he really was bad with names. “How was her surgery?”

Nick smiled but waved him off. “Just Lily. Decided to forego the whole old school second name stuff. And her gender reassignment surgery went well, very well! First one. Everyone’s really proud of her, the type of grown up things she had to do before too. All those insurance papers, whew. What a waste of time.”

Hank hadn’t seen Lily in a long minute, back when she didn’t go by Lily. He’d always liked her carefree, “Fuck you I can do what I want” attitude. Back then she’d had short spiky yellow hair - he hoped that was still the case now. It suited her. “Anesthesia went by okay?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Way too much sugar - just how he liked it. He remembered her going to one of those Humans 4 Androids rallys back in the day. He wondered how she’d react to him now, with Connor back at home.

Nick nodded, then rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way. “Yes, but you know how those doctors are. Almost had to tell them off, those schmucks really were gonna put an  _ android  _ in charge of a surgery on  _ my  _ daughter!” He made a disgusted face as if he’d just swallowed a lemon. Hank hoped he choked on his fancy eggs. “No way! Can’t trust those things, not as doctors. Especially now after all this deviant and revolution business. Awful.” Nicholas sighed and wiped his mouth clean. Hank tried really hard not to let his bitch face come through - he couldn’t believe he’d been one of those people.

“Sorry, no offense, I know how you -” Nick made vague hand gestures over his chest and then shrugged. Those hand gestures apparently meant  _ ‘I know how your son died while being operated on by an android’.  _ Hank grated his teeth together so hard he thought they would chafe off. People either used to always tiptoe around the subject or treat it like he’d lost his favorite hamster instead of his son. He didn’t like either reaction.

Why couldn’t people just leave him alone?

“Uhuh,” he murmured. He always wanted to tell him off but a small part of his brain reminded him that he didn’t have many friends to begin with. And that his most recent friend was currently ignoring him.

Nick looked at him apologetically and winced.  _ Yeah, that’s right asshole. Feel guilty.  _ “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I just… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… drag out old memories.”

What people never seemed to get about grief was that it was a constant thing, especially when it came to losing a child. Nick couldn’t have triggered him because he was  _ constantly  _ triggered. Hank Anderson managed his life with the constant presence of something being missing. Someone. It was like a phantom limb that never stopped hurting, just started pulsing in various pain levels.

He could explain himself, explain that it hadn’t been the  _ android’s  _ fault that Cole. That he wasn’t there anymore. But it was also 3pm on a tuesday and he was in a fancy as fuck restaurant where he didn’t know the exits, with a guy he knew well but who didn’t know him nearly as well, and he just didn’t feel like bothering. Sometimes he just wanted to sit there in silence and drink his coffee without having to explain himself.

So he replied with a shrug and a “‘S nothing” instead. Slyly redirected the conversation to safer waters. And for a while the conversation, however one sided, went off like that. Safe. Easy. Hank genuinely cared about this guy and his family, he really did. He meant well, no matter how many times Hank’d imagined shoving his dinners up the dude’s ass. Hank being a damaged, annoying personality had nothing to do with this guy.

And it felt nice, this whole talking and hanging out thing. Almost like he actually had a social life and didn’t just spend his free time with his dog in doors. Which was why, when Nicholas once again (like he always did) proposed the idea of setting him up on a blind date, Hank for some stupid reason agreed. He didn’t know what had possessed him, even Nick seemed unsure for a minute there before he happily went on about this woman he knew who apparently seemed to be his type. Hank doubted Nicholas knew who his type was - once upon a time, way back when, back in the academy, Nick  _ had  _ been Hank’s type. But the dude was as straight as a stripper pole, hadn’t even gotten the various hints and just outright indisputable evidence Hank had left over the years. Which was why he still wasn’t out to him, just like he wasn’t out to - well, everyone, really. Hank Anderson didn’t really have lots of friends and the ones he did have were never close enough to justify doing that. It was also such a  _ hassle _ , and who even had the time or patience? Not him, that’s for sure.

But whatever, woman, 50’s, blonde. He could work with that. Blonde women were his type too, or had been once upon a time. It was hard to tell what his type was now if he even had one. Mostly Hank just went about life without really looking or regarding people as anything but blips on his radar - except Connor, it seemed. Connor and that afternoon in the bathtub. Ahem.

“... And I know it may seem a bit much but I promise you’ll like her, she’s- She’s one of Sharon’s coworkers, but  _ so  _ funny.”

Hank just nodded and grunted. He barely even registered what Nicholas was saying by now. He found himself wondering what Connor was doing now - was he also having lunch with someone? Did Connor also make first date plans on a whim?

He had to ask him some time, Hank decided as he let his friend’s harmless chatter blur out like static.

It only occurred to him later, way later, when he was supposed to get ready, to wonder what the  _ fuck  _ he had agreed to. Blind date?  _ Him?!  _ He hadn’t been on a date since… jeez, how long it been? He honestly couldn’t remember.

Hank had spent the last hour and a half trying and failing to get ready. Had put on a shirt, decided he looked old in it, then put on yet another shirt. Problem was he looked old in every shirt. Fuck, he still didn’t even know what this woman worked as. Hadn’t bothered to check.

Hank looked at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. Little post it’s were scattered all over the glass but for some reason they didn’t make him as happy as they usually did. He kept trying to give himself a pep talk on why he should go and not bail. An excuse to dress up and go out. Good food. He could stretch his legs. A nice dinner conversation.

Thing was, Hank could do all those things at home too. Not the last part because Connor still was ignoring him, but he could always talk to Sumo. He didn’t need a good looking shirt to talk to Sumo, he’d never been judged before. Maybe he should do that instead, just bail…

Fuck, was he really gonna choose conversing with his  _ dog  _ over a blind date with some nice lady? He was truly fucked in the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by yours truly. The hank/ofc is only there for drama

**Author's Note:**

> By the ever talented leon. Who can write non human android twinks much better than I ever could xx


End file.
